


There's Truth in Fairy Tales, If You Know Who to Ask

by Bonfoi



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Tale Elements, Good versus Evil, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22691659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonfoi/pseuds/Bonfoi
Summary: There is Free Will and there is Love...and if you're lucky enough, you find both, together.
Relationships: Alex Lannon & Michael, Alex Lannon/Michael
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	There's Truth in Fairy Tales, If You Know Who to Ask

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** _This story is based on characters and situations created by Vaun Wilmott and loosely based on the 2010 film Legion, written by Peter Schink and Scott Stewart. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._
> 
> _Please respect the ages of consent of your respective countries._

* * *

_Michael Angelus!_

The shout echoed in the courtyard, causing nervous recruits and horses to shy, and grizzled veterans to bend closer to their swords and shields.

_Michael Angelus, where have you run off to?_

On a nearby hilltop covered with towering, ancient oaks, Michael chuckled to himself as his mentor roared. He leaned back into the tall grass of the only clearing on the hilltop and closed his eyes, savoring the scent of grass and wildflowers, and the odd apple tree blossoms that wafted across the clearing. There was even sunshine…

"Oy, Archangel, your presence has been demanded."

Barely opening his eyes, Michael glared at the black boot nudging his own, slightly scuffed ones. It looked depressingly familiar.

"Furiad," he drawled. "What brings you here?"

"The Lord wants you." Furiad stepped a foot away from Michael's indolent sprawl, wary of his Lord's garrison commander. "I am merely the messenger."

With the grace of a panther, Michael was on his feet. He also had one of the two blades he carried on his hips underneath Furiad's chin, lifting it. "A bit more respect and a tad less unctuous flunkey, Furiad."

Holding himself as still as he could, Furiad only glared at the man he was made to call 'commander.' In a deft motion, Michael dipped his sword tip and sliced the strings of Furiad's short cloak, forcing him to catch it or face a reprimand for desecrating the Lord's arms. Michael saw the instant Furiad decided he was less terrifying than the wrath of the manor's Lord.

Turning his back on the flustered man-at-arm's, Michael spoke over his shoulder, "Well, c'mon. Let's not keep Father waiting."

~*~*~*~*~*~

The ride back to the fortified manor was but an instant. Michael rode through the portcullis and toward the family entrance. When he was a few yards from the stone stairs a tow-headed boy of eleven came flying through the open door and then over the stairs and into the dirt at his feet. He growled and his shoulder blades flexed under his jerkin in reaction. He hardly registered he was off his horse and that one hand was reaching down for his ward while the other was brandishing one of his swords.

He spared a glance for Alexander, stunned and shaking his head as if to clear it of pain. The boy didn't look at him, purposely ignoring Michael's looming shadow to twist onto his knees and begin lunging back up the stairs.

"Where'd you go, you spawn of the devil?" a howling voice queried. "I'm not done with you."

Michael stepped forward, sheathing his sword and reaching for Alexander, still struggling to his feet. There was red running down the boy's face, blood…Michael's movement was a blur as he plucked the boy from the dirt and into his arms.

"Show yourself, you worthless whelp."

Michael cradled his ward to his chest, growling low in his throat. The voice was easily recognizable and most disliked. Alex whimpered a bit and rubbed his bloody face into Michael's metal-studded jerkin. "He hit Ethan. For nothing," the boy mumbled into his guardian's chest.

Still, Michael heard him loud and clear. His heart beat, always steady, always strong, seemed to stutter under Alex's cheek.

"And you had to right that wrong, eh, Alexander," Michael murmured into his ward's hair.

"Alex, you said you'd call me Alex," the boy whispered, comfortable against Michael's chest. "An' you said I should always follow my heart." One of the boy's hands clutched at Michael's left wrist. "I won't let you down again."

"There you are—"

The body that belonged to the voice was none other than the sheriff of the shire, Sir David of Whele. He rocked back on his heels as the sight of the brat in Michael's arms. He smiled his smarmy, ingratiating smile and came forward to the top of the stairs. "I see you caught the wretch. I'll take him off your hands, Michael. He's shown his true colors and struck a nobleman." 

David came down the stairs, one hand out to rip the boy from Michael's embrace. He should have known better!

With a slight shift of Alex's weight, Michael once again was armed and pointing his sword. This time, he deliberately extended his arm and sliced the sheriff's chin. 

"You are a bully, David of Whele. You are not fit to breathe this boy's air, let alone be Father's sheriff." He kept his sword centered on Whele as he stepped around the arrogant prick.

"Michael…commander…it would behoove you leave the man alive for any punishment." Furiad stepped to the other side of the sheriff, drawing his attention.

Sir Whele wiped the blood from his chin, uncaring that he was only smearing it across his face. "That, that creature laid hands on my son and heir. No penniless orph—"

Furiad pulled the sheriff aside as Michael turned to fully face Whele, sword singing through the air in a killing stroke. "Milord!"

Michael halted his motion, sword scant inches from beheading his father's sheriff. "Leave this place, Whele. Leave very, very quickly, before I forget myself." Alex moaned in his arms, breaking the tableau. "If he dies, you die." With that, Michael quickly climbed the stairs almost running over Whele's equally obsequious heir, William, on his way into the manor.

Once Michael had disappeared inside, Furiad herded the father and son toward the stables with hurried steps. He didn't apologize or speak other than to direct the stable boys to saddle and present the duo's mounts immediately.

Once seated in his overly ornate saddle, Sir David sneered down at Michael's lieutenant. "You'd best remind your commander that he too is subject to the king's law." He leaned forward and hissed, "And I will punish that peasant he insists on foisting on us." Without another word, he wheeled his horse away with a harsh stab of his spurs, almost leaving his son behind in his haste.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Shouting for the chatelaine, Lady Thorn, Michael strode through the manor and then up the back stairs to his room. He almost tore down the door before he took a breath he didn't know he needed. Realizing anger and worry were interfering with his almost legendary calm, Michael stood still, holding Alex closer as he kissed the boy's brow. That seemed to anchor him, and then Michael opened his bedroom door.

Becca Thorn, spinster sister of Lord Thorn, heard Michael's bellow and quietly wiped her hands on a towel before grabbing her medicine basket. It was a short walk to Michael's from the medicine closet. "No need to shout, Michael. You know I am always at your beck and call…" her voice trailed away at the sight of Alexander in Michael's arms, the boy's color high and a line of blood from his temple running down his cheek.

"You need to lay the boy down on the bed." 

"No." Michael sat on his bed and then turned, putting his back against the headboard and settling Alex across his lap. He looked at the chatelaine expectantly.

"Fine. On your head be the blood—" she bit off the rest of the sentence. She knew blood and gore often found itself on Michael's armor. Shaking her head, she poured out some water from a ewer onto an old towel and gently wiped the boy's wan face. He never woke under her ministrations, worrying her. 

"He should be awake, milord." She raised one eyelid and saw Alexander's pupil was much too large. Becca checked the other one and found it reacted normally. "This is beyond my ken, Michael," she said softly. Her fingers carded through the boy's hair, hoping the action would bring him awake while knowing it wouldn't.

She glanced up and saw the pain on Michael's face. "Father…I need to get him to Father," he whispered as he began moving off the bed.

"He's not here, Michael. He left just after conversation with Sir David." Becca's hand was warm on Michael's as he clutched the silent Alexander to his chest. "He left no word, just called for his guard and his horses…and left."

Michael was stunned. If he'd only come home sooner…never left at all...

He shook his head. "If not Father, then Gabriel…Gabriel will know what to do." He resolutely turned his legs to the side of the bed and stood, the action serving to startle Lady Thorn and making her take a step back.

"But, that's a day's ride, and Gabriel has no love lost for Alexander," she reminded Michael.

He shook his head. "No, his anger is with Father, not me, not Alex. For filial love, he will help Alex…he has to." Closing his eyes, he turned to the bed and laid Alex on top of the covers, blanching slightly as he saw how pale and listless the child had become in the past half hour. Without turning to his sometimes lover, he spoke over his shoulder, "Pack a change of clothes for him while I ready myself. Don't forget the angel carving he loves. We will leave as soon as I have a horse ready."

The chatelaine shook her head and hurried across the hall to Alexander's room to pack. From what she'd seen, the boy would need a blanket or two along with his own thick outer tunic and a cloak.

For a man at home with the furor and bloody business of war, Michael felt lost. He'd promised Alex's mother and father that he would always guard him, make him into the hero they all knew him to be…and yet, he'd been absent when the boy needed him most.

Michael wiped a hand down his face and pushed his shoulders back. He would make it up to Alex, he swore it on his honor.

Set in his course, Michael strode to his trunk. He opened it and grabbed his saddlebags with one hand and trews, hose and traveling tunic with the other, stuffing it all inelegantly into the one of the bags. He reached to the bottom of the trunk and found another sword, one fit for a child and stuck that into his belt. "Once you're healthy, Alex, you and I will train and no one, not even the sheriff will be able to hurt you again," he said in low, growling voice.

Becca returned, the fluffy wool-lined cloak the Lord had gifted Alexander only days earlier over one arm and a pair of bulging leather sacks hanging off the other. "I want you to take some food for Alexander. If he wakes, he'll be hungry, as he always is. Ethan will meet us downstairs with the provender." Her eyes roamed over Michael's back as he continued pushing things into his saddle bags. "Are you certain this is wise, Michael?"

He stopped and looked at the overstuffed saddle bags and bit off an imprecation. "Damned if I know," he finally muttered and dumped everything out to sort through what he truly needed. Once he was satisfied, he closed the bags and turned toward the bed, his eyes on Alex's chest as he breathed shallowly. "He is my ward, and a guest of Heaven's Manor, and I failed him."

The Lady Thorn moved closer, ignoring the cold look Michael cast upon her. She put a soft hand on his chest and said earnestly, "You could not have known Sir David would maltreat Alexander so. It is not your fault."

Michael looked at her, really looked and didn't like the shift in her gaze when his eyes met hers. He set his saddle bags on the end of the bed and carefully clasped her hand to his chest.

"Did you see what happened, madam chatelaine?" he asked softly. A suspicion was growing in his mind, one he didn't want to entertain. Becca attempted to pull her hand away, Alexander's things falling to the floor.

"No…no, why…" her words spilled over each other as she looked everywhere but at Michael. He began to crush her hand on his chest as his grip tightened; she winced, but still his hand ground the bones of her hand together.

"What did you do, Lady Thorn? Did you…did you endanger my ward?" The voice was so low as to be a hiss of cold, cutting air, barely heard, but easily understood. Michael twisted her hand and wrist, demanding an answer.

Becca shook her head and then gasped and fell to her knees as the bones ground the meat of her hand into throbbing pain. "Yes, yes," she finally admitted. "He is nothing. Less than nothing, taking your eyes from me, from those who truly lov—"

Michael tossed her into a sprawl on his floor. He didn't spare another glance, another thought as he retrieved Alex's cloak and bags, and his own saddle bags just as Ethan skidded to a quivering stop in his doorway. "Milord, milord, your steed's ready, and Master Furiad awaits." Then Ethan looked past the adults and nimbly dodged them to get to Alex's side. He reached out to brush a hand over Alex's barely moving chest. "He wouldn't let the sheriff touch me. Said no man, serf or lord, had the right to do such wicked things." The boy turned tear-filled eyes toward Michael. "I should have just let him take me."

Drawing in a deliberate breath and holding it for a count of ten, Michael shook his head and handed Alex's cloak and bags to his friend. Then he dropped to one knee to address the lad. "Don't ever think that. Alexander wouldn't have fought for you if he didn't believe you are as worthy of honor as I." A sad smile twisted his lips as his big hands wrapped around the boy's shoulders. "He fought my fight for you. I should have been there, Ethan. When I return, you will train with Alexander, so you too can fight for what's right and good." One more consoling rub of Ethan's shoulders and Michael stood up to walk to the bed and gently cradle Alex to his chest. "Help me get everything downstairs, Ethan. Lady Thorn will be leaving us so she cannot help me." 

He looked down at the floor where Becca still sat, now gobsmacked at being summarily dismissed from what had been her home for a decade. He addressed her directly, "Do not dawdle, do not tarry, do not think to change my mind, Lady Thorn." Michael sniffed and looked away. "My men will be with you shortly to help you on your way." He nudged Ethan toward the bedroom door, leaving his erstwhile mistress in the dust.

It was only a moment, a moment filled with rustling, metallic sounds, then two of Michael's men, his angels, filled the doorway. "Lady Thorn, we will help you pack," one of them said with a cold-eyed smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael closed his eyes and let his horse have his head. He and Furiad had taken several long leather ropes and lashed them together as some kind of net to keep Alex across Michael's lap, the poor lad's breath now even slower.

"You shouldn't care about the boy so much, commander." Furiad had cantered close to Michael's right side, distaste in his eyes as he looked at the waif in his commander's arms. "He's a peasant, one of many."

"You insult Father, and me, Furiad. While Father raised you up, your spirit has fallen into the mud of pride and envy." He shifted Alex's head on his chest, checking if there were any change, but no, there was no rousing the boy. He looked straight between the horse's ears. "You forget that once, all of us were exalted beyond measure, and then Father brought forth Man…and the family of this boy. And we rejoiced." He turned his head slightly. "He is the future, Furiad. You are the past. Lose your pride and help him achieve greatness for the many or be one of the lowly few." He knocked his heels into the horse's flanks and it sped up into a gallop.

"We are…we were God's great creations until that whelp's ancestors were created for the Lord's amusement," Furiad fumed. Then he thought of the boy just the other morning, attempting to mimic his sword exercises, and not necessarily failing. The boy had even asked insightful questions, one or two that had made Furiad change his footing and improve his reach. "Well…perhaps _he_ is worthy, but no others," he muttered under his breath.

A sudden bark of laughter came from Michael. "I heard that, Furiad."

The lieutenant rolled his eyes and kicked his horse's ribs to catch up.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A few hours later, Michael had to stop and have Furiad get Alex's cloak as a lashing rain had sprung up out of nowhere. Michael had relished the hard rain, but his heart, something he'd often wondered if he actually had, had beat faster as the first drops seemed to seek out Alex's face. With his own cloak over Alex, Michael hunched over his ward, trying to keep the rain from choking the boy. By moon rise, the storm had turned into a mad thing, breaking tree branches and launching them willy-nilly at the three of them.

Furiad shouted over the incessant roar of the wind, "I think we're almost there!"

Michael didn't bother to yell anything back at his companion. Alex had begun trembling against his chest, turning his head from side-to-side weakly. He urged his horse to more speed, and somehow, it ran even faster, dodging debris with alacrity until they came to the drawbridge of Soldier's Rest, Gabriel's castle.

No one looked down from the battlements. There were no shouts of warning or caution. In the eye of the storm, there was silence.

Until the drawbridge began its descent, the heavy chains creaking and screeching as it thudded on the ground. And a surly voice called out, "Well, do you need an invitation? Move yer arses!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Under the walls of the castle, it was warmer, but Michael didn't care. He felt Alex's face, shocked at how cool it was under both cloaks. He didn't see or hear the owner of the voice that had bid them enter, but it didn't matter: he needed Gabriel now!

"Gabriel! Gabriel!" he shouted, absolutely thundered inside the echoing walls. "I need your help!

Furiad slipped from his horse and ran to Michael's stirrup, raising his hands for Alex. "Give him to me!" he hissed out. "If we are ambushed, you are the better fighter."

Michael didn't waste a thought and carefully cut the leather net holding Alex across his body. No matter how he acted, he knew Furiad would die before letting anything happen to Michael's charge.

Lightning flashed in the courtyard, barely illuminating the area under the barbican. Michael's horse stood its ground as its training fought and won over its natural instinct to rear and flee. Michael pressed his palms to the steed's neck, a gesture of trust and thanks. Then, with nudges of knees and heels, they walked into the courtyard. Furiad held Alex in one arm and settled against a darkened bit of wall, his free hand on the pommel of his sword.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the center of the courtyard, a man stood under a campaign tent. Michael dismounted, his senses on high alert. There was something familiar about the man…and the tent.

"Gabriel?"

"No." The man came out of the shadows of the tent and into the uncertain light. It was Sir David Whele. "No, Michael Angelus, it's your worst nightmare." He held a length of chain that…smelled of empyrean steel. Michael's nose wrinkled at the idea of such a loathsome _human_ forging something like that.

The sheriff jerked the chain and a body tumbled out of the tent and into the courtyard. The figure was breathtakingly beautiful, haughty, and filled with incendiary anger. "Oh, hell…Morningstar."

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the shadows of the barbican, opposite of Furiad's position, the one who'd dropped the drawbridge rolled his eyes at the sight of the two brothers and the worm, Sir David. He rubbed absentmindedly at the lump on the back of his head, fuming at the ignominy of being coshed by his own mace…in the hands of that thrice damned sheriff.

"Why don't you come out and join us, Gabriel?" Sir David shouted. "So intelligent, so strong all of you archangels," he taunted. "Do you know how easy it was to entice your brother out of hiding? All it took was a damsel in mortal distress and this dragon slithered out of his hole and into my trap." The mad man laughed harshly. "Nothing but lies, and he, the greatest liar of all, fell for it."

Lucifer stood straight, dragging the sheriff back since the man still had a hard hold on the empyrean chain. "You think you've got me? Did you even think that the damsel, _my damsel_ , wasn't exactly thrilled to used as bait?"

Michael almost laughed at the look on Sir David's face when a wraith whirled out of the dark and beat him with the polished wooden sticks in its hands. Then, like all things of wonder, it disappeared right before the human's eyes.

The distraction worked in Michael's favor as he chopped off the hand holding Lucifer's chain. The edge of his swords were always sharp, always true, and he knew the sheriff didn't believe anything had happened until it fell off his wrist, pulled away from his body by the weight of that horrid chain.

Never one to let others fight his battles, Lucifer grabbed up a length of chain and wrapped it around the sheriff's throat. "You _dared_ to bind Lucifer Morningstar, the eldest of the Archangels? By your goddamned self?" The words were hissed out, the tone so cold, they froze in the air around the now-screaming sheriff.

Lucifer's shadow, a human woman of uncommon bravery, appeared at his side and crossed her arms. "Are you done playing, my dragon? There's a little boy that needs tending to in the barbican." She leaned closer to her Archangel's side and addressed the blubbering noble being strangled by Lucifer, "and you, you worm, you filth, just because Father has left us to our own devices doesn't mean you get to make Lucifer late for our hand-fasting." She drew a stiletto from her hip and stabbed the sheriff in the heart. "Now, will someone find Gabriel, open the door and get that boy some help?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Gabriel came out from under the barbican, Furiad and Alex right behind him. "Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer, where _did_ you find this treasure?" the Voice of God fairly cooed. The treasure in question appeared as if by magic directly in front of Gabriel and punched him the nose.

"You may be my dragon's kith and kin, but I don't know you, I don't like you, and I certainly did not like your friend." She threw back her head and was suddenly at Lucifer's side once more.

"Ah…" Gabriel blinked slowly, pursed his lips and then waved a hand at the door of his home. It opened with nary a sound and Furiad hurried inside, closely followed by Michael.

"Gabriel, if you wouldn't mind," Lucifer indicated the chain still binding him. "As the lady says, there's a little boy in need." 

Gabriel drew his own empyrean steel sword and took it in a two-handed grip. He winked at the fair lady and swung it down, hard. The chain had been held in tension between Lucifer's hands and snapped—cleanly—with Gabriel's stroke. "Never it let be said I don't help family." Gabriel sheathed his sword as he turned smartly on his heel and headed toward his beckoning door.

Lucifer drew a deep breath, pursed his lips, and held up his right arm. A thin stream of bluish-white flame burnt through the empyrean steel shackle on his wrist. He did the same to his left wrist, kicking them aside along with the chain. He held out his right hand for his lady, a smirk on his face. "Well, you wanted to meet the family, my dear."

She leaned in, setting her right hand in his. "Lucifer, let's take care of the boy first. Otherwise, we're going nowhere fast." A quick kiss on his chiseled lips and she whirled away, and inside Gabriel's castle.

Lucifer followed behind, wondering how he was going to tell his brothers about Father's visit, and the illuminating discussion regarding that almost dead little boy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The bed seemed to swallow Alex's small form. Michael sat against the headboard, his left thigh against Alex's shoulder. The assassin who would be his sister-in-law was off by the fireplace, bowls of herbs and a cup of steeping chamomile in front of her. She was chanting in a language just old enough to shock Michael and Gabriel—she was using High Enochian!

"Ah, Lucifer, please, big brother, correct me if I'm wrong, but when did you did decide to wed the Witch of Endor?" Gabriel's voice was hushed, as he felt the belief in those chants, the weight of history in each vowel and consonant she uttered.

Michael listened with half an ear. Alex took almost his whole attention. The skin of his young ward's face was almost translucent, as if he were alabaster and not a little boy who should be chattering at him nine to the dozen. He couldn't help himself and carded his fingers through Alex's hair. The tresses were as limp as their owner. Something inside Michael began to break at the thought he was going to lose Alex…

Furiad stepped inside the bedroom door, helmet under his arm. "Commander, I've released the castle's people. They are securing the grounds even now." His red eyes strayed to the bed and shifted away, a grimace crossing his face before he could stop it. "They…we…send our blessing on your charge." He saluted Michael, a fist to his heart and bowed his head before turning away.

"Thank you, Furiad. I'll make certain to tell Alex of your concern," Michael murmured for Furiad's ears alone. The other Archangels acted as if they hadn't heard a thing.

Once the witch, still unnamed, had finished her ritual, she lithely stood up, summoning the bowls to bob in the air behind her. She kept both hands visible to Michael, which earned her a bit more of his respect, but he still eyed the fruits of her magical work with distrust.

"Don't make that face, Archangel," she said breathily, as if she'd been running a marathon, "I have it on good authority that I'm a good witch, and let's leave it at that." Her face was drawn in concentration as she guided the bowl of chamomile tea to the table set up near the bed. She pointed with her chin as Michael's hands. "You need to hold these two bowls. Part of the spell is your belief in Alex, in his destiny, in your feelings for him." She stared into Michael's eyes, deeply. Then, she blinked, seemingly pleased what she'd seen. "Hold those big hands out, handsome, and let me work my magic."

Lucifer chuckled. The ritual had ended when his beloved shared that look with his martial brother. He had always known Michael had a soft spot for humans, honestly, who could blame him? They were endlessly fascinating with their imaginations and ingenuity, and their potential to love unconditionally. He stared at his witch, watched her dab her fingers into the bowl in Michael's right hand—a concoction of feverfew and Echinacea and a dash of angel's tears—to the poor child's pale face. Michael's face was almost as pale, his eyes burning as they followed every touch she laid on the boy.

Soon, the bowl was empty and she was scooping out the thickened concoction from the bowl in Michael's left hand. The goo was faintly iridescent, absorbing into Alexander's temples, his throat, and then finally just behind his ears. The witch carefully waved her hands over the now empty bowls, making them disappear from Michael's grasp. And, before he could react, she was holding the chamomile tea against Alex's lips, silently urging him to wake just enough to sip the drink.

Minutes passed, and Michael could feel his heart breaking, nothing was happening!

Suddenly, Alex licked his lips, eyes still closed. He opened his mouth and the witch tipped some tea in. The boy wet his lips and groaned. The witch laid her hand on his forehead and he sighed, his color improving. "Little one, would you like some more tea?" she asked softly.

"Ah, good…" Michael sat like a statue, only his thigh pressed against Alex's shoulder anchoring him to the bed, to reality. Carefully, the witch let Alex groggily drink the chamomile tea until it was all gone. "Than-koo…" Alex mumbled as he turned toward Michael and fell into a natural, healing sleep.

Michael let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His left hand fell onto Alex's head and began carding his fingers through hair that once again curled wildly around them. He looked up and smiled, truly smiled at the witch. "I owe you a life debt…I would call you by your name, for you are not my enemy."

She shared her own, true smile with the Archangel. "You may call me Fidelia." She stuck out her hand and Michael clasped her arm, as if she were a shield brother. Her smile grew brighter as she leaned over Alex's sleeping form. "I just knew I'd _like_ you if you loosened up," she whispered.

Grinning now, Michael smirked. "Well, I am the best of a bad lot," he quipped before tuning everyone out as he focused on the miracle resting at his side.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lucifer stood up and helped his witch secure the tools of her trade and then motioned her into the chair he'd vacated. "Fidelia, my love, I know how tiring the rituals can be. Rest for a bit. Please." He stood waiting for her, for once, the epitome of loving solicitude. When she sat down, he gracefully sat tailor-wise at her side.

Realizing Gabriel hadn't spoke for over an hour, she glance at him, surprising a look of longing on his face as he watched the two on the bed. A flick of her fingers and the three of them were in a shimmering bubble of privacy.

"You know more about those two than you want to, Gabriel." The witch's voice was deeper, richer. It caught his attention and brought it back to the woman, the Witch of Endor, who was going to be part of his family. She spoke again, "The Voice of God can impel, compel and illuminate, Gabriel. When did you use it on Michael?"

Taking a deep breath, Gabriel seemed to huff out his stuffing, relaxing into his chair. "Shows, huh?! When that boy was born, I was going to kill him. Then I held him in my arms." Gabriel held out his arms, seeing the past as he continued speaking. "Do you know how much a baby weighs against the sins of the world? How that small _thing_ just opened its newborn eyes and put any plan I had to ruin?"

Lucifer nodded. He too had been blessed by a newborn. That infinite grace, that purity, it had transformed him.

"I don't need divination to see that you saw the possible future, Gabriel," Fidelia said softly. "What changed your mind, really?"

Gabriel smiled wistfully. "I had a son…and I saw him again in Alexander's face, in those clear blue eyes." Yes, sometimes, it could be that simple. Gabriel tossed his head and was his insouciant self once more. "And, I met a man and a woman, so no more lonely Grabriel missing his Father's love and attention."

A being of light wafted into the room, the words it spoke appearing in everyone but Alex's mind—after all he was asleep. "You've done well, my children." The light split into two columns and Father stood before his sons, and the rest of the family. "I 'm sorry I left without a word, but your Mother called." The pair shared a wicked grin before turning back to the others. "What sane male says no to their better half?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Are you reading that fairy tale to your son _again_?"

Michael grinned to himself and closed the book from which he'd been reading aloud. "It's our story. Our child should hear it." There was a thread of laughter in those words that had the baby lying in a fort of pillows cooing and clapping his hands.

Watching his mate, his husband, undressing as he crossed to their bed, Michael let his grin turn into a smirk. "You always liked it. So, like father, like son."

Alex shook his head and chuckled. "He'll have to find his own angel , Michael. You're taken." The bed dipped as Alex, wearing a shortened pair of Michael's lounge pants, crawled over from the other side. "I'm sorry I missed bath time tonight. I'll bet Gabriel was a handful."

Michael reached across their son, their miracle, to palm the curve of Alex's cheek. "Not as much as his father was." God's words danced across Alex's skin, floating into the air to swirl over Michael's fingers before floating back to Alex. 

"So, when are you going to tell your brother he has a nephew?" Alex sighed as he relaxed on the other side of their Gabriel's pillow fort. He carded his fingers through the auburn hair of their son, marveling once again as how he was able to change a curse into a blessing just by actually loving his archangel. The yawn that snuck up on him was a shock to the system, and Alex laid his head on his arm, watching his family until his eyelids fell.

"You can come out now, Gabriel, and meet your namesake." Michael looked over Alex's body, toward the shadows nearest the window.

"You named it after me." The words were flat.

"No, Alex named _our son_ after you, as a sign of respect, and family." Michael couldn't see his twin's eyes, but he felt his pain ease a bit. "Love is the answer, Gabriel," he whispered.

"There's a girl," Alex muttered in his sleep. "She's waiting for…Gab'riel. She needs…him…" His words sighed out into the quiet room, and Michael felt Gabriel's essence, his soul, shiver at the thought he wouldn't be alone anymore.

Michael began breaking down the pillow fort so he could lay his child in the bassinet Ethan Mack had refurbished as a gift. "If you look for her, we will back your play," he murmured into his son's hair before swaddling him and then laying him down to sleep.

Gabriel barely moved, but he was at Michael's side, then in his brother's arms. "Hope hurts," he said against his brother's shoulder. Michael's arms were gentle around his shoulders, and then there was a hand rubbing his back.

"Gabe, Uncle Gabe, take a load off and then we’ll go find your better half, okay?" Alex asked before falling back to the bed and wriggling under the covers and falling back to sleep.

"Would you share our bed or do you want privacy?" Michael asked, carefully.

Gabriel looked down at his namesake. Soft, the boy was softness and light and love…

"I'll sleep nearest the window. I want to wake with the sun." Gabriel pulled out his sword and scabbard and laid it aside, then he began unbuckling and untying his armor, his wrist guards, and then another layer of armor underneath that. Until he stood weaponless but for his wings, a soft, worn tunic and leggings the only covering he had. "Will this shock Alex?

"Alex will be happy when you two shut up and get into bed."

Michael smiled, a soft, small smile that belonged only Alex. "You have your answer, and soon, you too will have your miracle." Michael climbed into bed and wrapped himself around Alex. "Good night, brother. It's good to have you here."

Gabriel sat on the side of the bed, looking at Michael's son, _Michael's son_ , not some cursed Nephilim. He took a deep breath, breathing in child, angel, human, and love…God's Love. Something changed in that breath, something wondrous, something miraculous. Gabriel breathed deeply again and lay down at Michael's back.

"Remarkable," he whispered to no one.

_"As are all my children, my Voice. Blessed are you, Gabriel."_

Gabriel's lips curled up as his soul truly felt Father's blessing for the first time in centuries. And, for the first time in eons, he fell into a deep and healing sleep. Perhaps hope wasn't overrated.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small fandom, but it's got a lot of potential. 
> 
> I finally got to stream the only two seasons SYFY allowed us, and I got inspired. So, thanks to the lovely actors who brought the characters to vivid life, and Vaun Wilmott for taking a chance.


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